The Final Frontier
by JulieGee
CHAPTER 10
The sun burned overhead in unrelenting fury. He was surrounded by sand. The ground felt like a blast furnace as a grit-filled breeze abraded his skin. It wasn't doing much for his breathing, either.
"Ensign! Where the hell are we?" the Captain managed to gasp out. He started trying to breathe through his sleeve. It didn't seem to be helping much.
"Deep in the Sahara Preserve. There's no high-tech weather control in this area. Just the desert like it was meant to be. Follow me along the path. We have to climb the next dune. It'll only take a few minutes," the ensign assured him.
The captain chose to follow close behind. Path? All he could see was sand and more sand. He took off after the eager ensign, stumbling constantly as he struggled to breathe through the dust, feet sinking deeply into the sand with every step. Sweat started to run down his face, caused by his exertion in the blazing heat. Tears from his nearly sun-blinded eyes mixed with it.
"See? Isn't it incredible?" Merlin shouted as they slowly climbed the dune.
The Captain shielded his eyes. "Sand! All I see is sand!"
"Yeah, but it's a different kind of sand! See the dividing line on that dune over there? If you look closely, you..." Merlin said before turning and sniffing the air.
"Wait! It's starting. It's why I wanted to visit here now. With you. It's very rare. You have to see this," Merlin said excitedly. Both men crested the dune. The Captain gasped as he saw the wall moving towards them at a stunning speed.
"ENSIGN! WHAT THE HELL IS..."
He staggered backwards as the full force of the blast hit him.
"It's a sandstorm. Class 5!" Merlin yelled into his ear. "There's usually only one or two a year at this intensity. I asked the Yamato computer to track it in case the inquiry finished early. I wanted to see one like this again. Isn't it amazing? This one's different, though. Louder. Harder to see through. It just makes it more beautiful."
The ensign looked delighted. Then he studied his captain closely through milky eyes and winced.
"Oh, that's right. I forgot. You don't have an inner eyelid like Romulans, do you? This can't be much fun for you. Lets just get back to the ship. You're turning pink. Really pink! Don't you ever go outside in real sunlight?"
The Captain struggled to reply, but all he could do was cough.
Merlin's communicator chirped. It took his sensitive hearing to hear it through the howl of the sandstorm.
"There's a message from the Admiralty! They're ready to talk to us now and they're already running behind schedule. You know how that always delights Admirals! I'll just have us beamed to Starfleet Command directly. It should only take us a few minutes to clean up," he shouted over the wind.
"Emrys to Starfleet Command. Two to beam to the Admiralty transporter facility. Energize!"
The captain's eyes widened. They couldn't widen much in the sandstorm, but they did. Running behind schedule? Admirals? They weren't going to wait for them to walk from the transporter room. They weren't going to wait, period.
The captain was fighting for air. He didn't get his objection out in time. The world sparkled as they disappeared.
They reappeared in the middle of a group of very senior admirals.
A very surprised group of very senior admirals.
"Captain, are you quite all right?" one of the very senior admirals asked as he stared in shock at the sand-covered officers. The admirals had wanted to save time. They had diverted the officers' transport directly to the courtroom. It clearly hadn't been the best idea.
Merlin brushed the sand off his uniform efficiently. His Vulcan "bowl cut" restored itself to a glossy raven-black with a casual shake, regaining its usual shape instantly. There was a reason Vulcans were so fond of the hairstyle. They had to deal with a lot of sand. They were experts in the field.
Then Merlin saw the Captain. He had seen him only vaguely through the dust storm.
The Captain was sunburned from his fifteen minutes in the desert at noon. His bright red face was covered with streaks of mud where his tears had mixed with the dust adhering to it. Dark stains covered the front of his uniform and under his arms. His hair was stunning, and not in the good way. It was at least twice its normal width and about three times its usual height. It certainly wasn't going to be restored with a shake!
The Captain continued coughing uncontrollably, his dust-filled lungs fighting for air. He could barely breathe. His vision began to sparkle and this time a transporter had nothing to do with it. Merlin grabbed him as he started to fall to his knees.
A crisp voice issued a command. The Captain heard the soft whirr of a medical scanner, and then the hiss of a hypo against his skin. His breathing became much easier. As the red motes left his vision, he found himself looking into the eyes of a legend. It took a few more seconds of coughing to restore his voice.
"Thank you, Doctor McCoy," he said, followed by another cough. It was common knowledge that the admiral preferred to be called "Doctor."
"Not a problem, Captain. Trust me, you're not the first Starship captain I've treated. I've learned never to go anywhere without my little black bag," the doctor said.
"Medkit," he clarified at the look of confusion on the Captain's face.
"Children," the doctor muttered with a frustrated shake of his head.
In this case the ancient admiral was referring to the captain as well as the ensign. He glanced at the transporter logs on his tablet. He had requested them as soon as he saw the captain. He paused to kick at the little machine that rushed from the wall as soon as it saw the pile of sand growing around the two officers. It dodged, blurped its disapproval and scuttled a few feet away, awaiting another opportunity to leap on the growing pile.
"You beamed from the Sahara Preserve? What took you into the heart of the Sahara? It's noon there isn't it?" the doctor asked after a quick look at the man's bright red skin. "Not a life threatening sunburn, but still. Severe windburn, too," he muttered as he checked the logs again. "How did you manage to get windburn?" His tablet chirped as the computer updated him on information it felt might be useful in the current context. He glanced down at it.
"The Sahara Weather Bureau just declared an environmental emergency. There's a... WHAT? A CLASS 7 SANDSTORM? Even shuttlecraft are diverting around it! They're worried their shields might fail!"
"WOW! So that's why it was so intense," Merlin said excitedly. "I thought it was just a Class 5. I've always wanted to see a Class 7. They only form every ten years or so. I can't believe how lucky we were! Can we go back and see it again?" he asked, actually bouncing with delight at the thought.
Nine of the Admirals and his horrified captain looked at him like he was insane. Even the little cleaning machine stopped its plotting and paused to consider the suggestion. It called for backup just in case the unwise ensign decided to try it.
The one Vulcan admiral looked intrigued. She had always wanted to see a Class 7 sandstorm, and unlike the unfortunate human gasping in front of her she was built to withstand it. For a few minutes, at least. Maybe ten minutes if she controlled her breathing aggressively. Hopefully the storm would last until the inquiry was over. She refocused on the struggling captain.
"Picnic. Just supposed to be a picnic," the Captain said through another fit of coughing. "Not assassination attempt. Picnic."
"Captain, what constitutes a picnic for someone of Vulcan decent is very different than for a human," the doctor said. "You seem fine now, although perhaps an abbreviated inquiry is in order. And get rid of that," he muttered with a gesture at his patient.
The captain blinked as he looked down. The sand covered remains of his hot dog were still clenched in his white-knuckled fist. He dropped it and jumped as the delighted little cleaning machine leapt on it and started dragging the unrecognizable object away, trailing sand behind it.
He was still having difficulty speaking. He grabbed Merlin's hand.
picnic?
notassassination?
the captain thought as he looked at Merlin in desperation, the uncertainty in his panicked thoughts evident.
picnic
the ensign assured him.
A/N: Hope you're enjoying our heroes' continued adventures. I'm eagerly waiting to see if this story breaks a hundred reviews. New record for me!
Oh, BTW, I didn't think to clarify until now, but for my readers unfamiliar with Trek stuff, Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry. They're essentially the same physically. The Romulan part of Merlin is dominant but his Human half complicates things in very funny ways later on in the story.
Cheers!